The Townsville Chainsaw Massacre
by TateThePowerpuffFan
Summary: Brick, Buttercup, Boomer, and Blossom head out into Texas with their friend Elmer, after learning their grandfather's grave had been desecrated. After encountering a crazed hitchhiker, they set off to visit their grandfather's old property. When they investigate a nearby house for gas, the trip plunges into a total nightmare. Based on the 1974 film "The Texas Chainsaw Massacre."
1. The Introduction

**Disclaimer by Buttercup: Ooh, spooky, I'm so terrified. Wow. Ahem, anyways... the author does not own the rights to the Powerpuff Girls franchise, or the rights to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre... which would have been awesome rights to acquire, am I right? Of course I am... you may proceed now.**

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><p><strong>The Townsville Chainsaw Massacre<strong>

**11:25 AM**

**On a Wednesday, 1973**

**Townsville, TX**

**The story in which you are about to read is an account of the tragedy which befell a group of five youths, in particular Blossom Utonium and her invalid brother, Brick. It is all the more tragic in that they were young. But had they lived very, very long lives, they could not have expected nor would they have wished to see as much of the mad and macabre as they were to see that day. For them an idyllic summer afternoon drive became a nightmare.**

**The events of that day were to lead to the discovery of one of the most bizarre crimes in the annals of American history, The Townsville Chain Saw Massacre.**

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><p><strong><span>Author's Note:<span> Okay, just if you're wondering, yes this is the same speech made at the beginning of the movie. I strongly encourage each and every one of you readers to search for it (the original 1974 version, not those baby remakes that our generation has been subjected to) and to not quit until you have seen it. I swear it is that good. I will try to not interrupt the rest of this story. Enjoy and review!**


	2. The Cemetery

**Chapter 1: The Cemetery**

**8:35 AM**

**A beautiful Texas sunrise. Nothing unusual about that. Sheriff Darrell Malcolm, the middle-aged el capitaino of the law and his youthful deputy, Randy Banterrot were minding their own business, cruising around in the Sheriff's personal police cruiser down a dusty back road. The early morning sun was just barely peeking out over the distant treeline, shining into the two's eyes... if they hadn't been wearing their special Texas, official-issue aviators, that is. There was nothing like a morning drive around a southern, rural town in Summer to some Johnny Cash to take a short break from the rest of the outside world and its issues.**

"This is refreshing, sir." The deputy grinned as he sipped from his coffee, scanning the fields of grain. "It's been awhile since I've felt so 'at ease' with myself, lately. "

"I remember my first year of marriage, Randy." Malcolm chuckled, "It may get better, but it will never get any easier."

"Hey Malcolm, you just addressed me by my first name... are officers permitted to call each other by first names?"

"Who cares? I didn't think there was any regulation against it, far as I know. Certainly not in _**my**_ town."

"I certainly don't care."

"I know you don't. That's clearly why you brought it up. Heheh." Randy simply smiled in response. Up ahead, the sign advertising the Townsville Cemetery came into view. "Wanna swing by the cemetery for a few minutes?"

"What makes you wanna stop by the cemetery?" Randy raised an eyebrow. The idea seemed somewhat unusual to him.

"For some reason, I've always found burial grounds to be the most peaceful places here on God's green Earth. Folks always have them established far from all the hustle and bustle of the living world, just to give the dead the peaceful rest in which they all deserve. Might as well just do it before returning to the grind."

"You have a point there, Sheriff. Let's do it." Randy took another swig of coffee before tilting his seat back. In no time at all, the two had pulled up to the cemetery gates.

The graveyard was not particularly large. Townsville maintained a population of about four-hundred, and not very many of them had died. Most people actually left town by the time they had grown into men and women, so the cemetery didn't even necessarily have to be expansive.

The cop car pulled in and sluggishly coasted across the gravel section of street. The Sheriff scanned around and admired the headstones, many of which had worn down over the years from the many storms and showers which had drifted overhead.

Suddenly, something vile caught his attention. He immediately parked the cruiser and nudged his partner. The two cops stepped out and rushed over to one of the towering grave-markers. Two severely decomposed corpses were positioned on top of the pillar, one stacked on the shoulders of the other as though it were being given some sort of posthumous piggyback ride.

The stench was even more unbearable than the sight. It smelt of about a decade's worth of decay and skunk meat. Maggots draped over one of the bodies' faces, feasting and festering away at the remaining tidbits and strands of meat. The ghastliness of the shrine made Randy stagger back and vomit all of his once-delicious brew into a patch of lengthy straw grass. Sheriff just smiled and laughed at the non-cooperation of his partner's feeble stomach.

"Well, ain't this some messed up bullshit? This ain't the first time it's happened, neither. I've seen it done, before!"

After finally ridding himself of all his coffee, the deputy brought himself to his feet once more, and discovered two excavated plots just a couple of yards to his left. "Hey Sheriff! Come take a look at this!" The more authoritative authority figure jogged over to his deputy, examining the crudely uprooted graves. The coffins were still snug in the hardened soil, but the lids of both had been voraciously pried open. Select few fragments of body were all that remained. In fact, the parts that were unaccounted for were the parts placed on the marker: select arms, legs, feet, and even a skull or two had been dug up, severed and or removed from the carcasses, and rearranged to create a very disgusting, volatile statue.

"Get to the radio, Randy," Darrell hesitantly ordered, "Call in for backup, as well as someone to get some good pictures of this." He then remembered the code of respect of which he had for the dead. "What are the names on the excavated headstones?" Randy halted and turned back to read the partially weathered down markers.

"Judith D. Fairland, and Erlen M. Utonium."

"As soon as I get to a phone book, I'll search up and call the families."


End file.
